How in the name of all that was holy did he end up taking a hike across all twenty-five acres of Snowberry Lodge and beyond? Red Starling didn’thike.
He also didn’t chat about macros—whatever the heck they were—or care about bone density and something called his “mitochondrial” health or, God help him, lymphatic drainage.
Yet somehow, someway, that’s what he got roped into today by Bertie Kessler, an unstoppable force of nature who refused to take no for an answer. Once again, she’d snagged him as he’d made his way from the lodge up to the house, a long nap in his future.
Now, he was marching in the snow listening to a very talkative old workhorse yammer about the “pillars of health” like they were the second coming.
“Come on, now, Red. Let’s get to your house. What is that? Half a mile, uphill?”
He moaned because it was easier than talking.
“Hard things make strong people.” Bertie grinned up at him, her blue eyes bright behind bifocals. “You want to be strong, don’t you, Red?”
“I want to be drinking something hot in front of the fire,” he muttered. “With my crossword puzzle.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic for your brain,” she said, tugging on that ridiculous giant fur hat. “Gotta stay alert and sharp or we get old.”
“Must be, ’cause I live for that puzzle.” Although, right now, he felt like he might die trying to get to it.
“Not good, not good,” she said, making him slow his step.
“What’s not good?” he demanded. “You just said it was fantastic.”
“Did you not listen to my speech about the pillars of health?”
Not a word, he thought.
“Of course you didn’t,” she said. “Nutrition, movement, sleep, and purpose!” She slathered all kinds of emphasis on the last one. “You must have apurpose. We’re too old for jobs, so we need to have something that matters.”
“TheNew York Timescrossword puzzle matters,” he said, knowing it sounded like a weak argument, probably because it was. Or maybe because this last hill was murder.
“It doesn’t really matter because it’s inanimate,” she explained. “You need a soul involved. A person, a pet, a hobby that improves people’s lives. My purpose is helping old folks realize their physical potential.”
“Or killing them,” he said under her breath.
“One more corner, Red,” she prodded. “And while you do it, tell me your purpose.”
He tried to think of something that would shut her up, but he went blank.
“Come on, what matters to you every day?” she pressed. “What brings you joy, comfort, and a reason for waking up in the morning?”
Would she accept biscotti? Probably not.
“You better give me an answer or we’re doing another mile.”
He slid her a dark look. “Fine. I like…naps. There’s nothing better, ’cept maybe my granddaughter’s baking, that crossword puzzle, another nap, possibly a good game of Monopoly with Benny and a plate of cookies.” He grinned at her. “Followed by a nap. You see a pattern there?”
To her credit, she laughed heartily. Maybe there was a beating heart in that drill sergeant’s body. “Well, the answer was buried in there,” she said. “Benny. He’s your purpose.”
The words hit harder than he expected—unless that was his heart on the verge of a full-blown attack.
“Yeah, he’s very important to me.”
“How?”
He rolled his eyes like he did every time she threw in a little therapy with her miserable exercise.
“I’m the only man in his life,” he said, the answer popping into a head that had obviously been cleared of rational thought from all this walking.
